Trick or Treat, Baby
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: When Napoleon and Illya chaperone a Halloween party for teens, anything can happen.


MFU-TS and Gen, please. _Yeah, 56_

Napoleon Solo took a sip of punch and made a face. "Kool Aid," he muttered.

"What did you expect, champagne?" Illya Kuryakin hid his smile behind his own cup, his eyes never leaving their target. Currently the heir to the Benwasan throne was tormenting a petite blonde with a fake spider. "Didn't anyone brief you on the assignment?"

"Only that Mr. Waverly insisted we take it. I had a night of trick or treating all planned." Napoleon replaced the cup and picked up a square. It appeared to be made of puffed rice or something like it.

"Let me guess, you were going to be doing the treating."

"All night long. I mean, I can't remember when we've had a milder Halloween. It's positively warm out there." He nibbled the corner and chewed. "At least this isn't too bad."

"I never pegged you as a fan of Rice Krispies treats, Napoleon."

"Is that what this is? At least our charge seems to be having a good time."

Rishwain Delcort or Wain to his friends had given up on the blonde and was jumping around in the middle of the room. Napoleon refused to call it dancing. He drowned his sorrows in another treat. "And that's what we are here for. To make sure he has fun… good, clean, bird-free fun."

"I think THRUSH would stand out here as much as… well, frankly as much as you do." Illya had dressed more casually forgoing a tie, as more a treat than anything else. He kept his attention drifting about the room, watching for anything odd. With the exception of themselves, chaperones as it were, all the attendees were young teens. They seemed more intent upon laughing, having fun and casually flirting.

His eyes kept coming back to a young man wearing a sheet and a mask. Most of the kids were wearing at most a half mask or a hat, a token effort at childhood while Illya could sense the simmering of hormones just beneath the surface.

"Napoleon, all the party goers were vetted, were they not?"

"Yup, they are all kids from the Embassy." Immediately, he was all attention. "Something wrong?"

"The one in the sheet?"

"No idea who he is. I'm just repeating what I was told. The parents greeted everyone who came through the front door.

"What about the back door?"

There was a sudden commotion by the punch bowl and both men turned in that direction. There was a multitude of plastic spiders floating in the drink and a young girl was in tears.

"How could you?" she cried. "You know I'm terrified of them."

"It was a joke, Janel!"

"It's not funny!" She began smacking the young man with her clutch.

Napoleon smiled. "Ah, youth."

"Ah nothing, where is the prince?"

"What? Wait, where's the guy in the sheet?"

There was a crash by the punch bowl and Napoleon looked over. The girl was becoming more aggressive. "You find the prince!"

Illya nodded and ran from the living room into the kitchen. The door was still secured, which mean no one had left by it.

He moved then to the closest bedroom, surprising a young couple in a tight embrace.

"None of that, now," he chastised as the two teens blinked painfully in the light.

"You said no one would find us!" The girl pulled her sweater around herself and raced from the room. Illya had the feeling he'd just spared one young lady from making a big mistake. The young man was hastily doing up his trousers.

"Thanks loads, Gramps." The boy tried to push past him and Illya grabbed an arm, spinning him around.

"Not so fast."

"Do you know who I am?" The boy pulled free and tried to make himself bigger than he was.

Illya held open his jacket, displaying his weapon. "Do you know who I am?"

The boy paled and took a step back. "Don't shoot me. I didn't do anything."

"And let it remain so. If I hear anything about that girl's honor being besmirched, you will deal with me."

"Weren't you ever young?"

"I still am. Now, go!"

Illya checked the last bedroom, but it was empty save a huge pile of coats. On his way back to the living room, he saw the closet and heard muffled noises. Eyes widening, he yanked open the door and saw a bound figure on the floor. There was a bag over the person's head

"Your Highness," Illya murmured, bending to undo the ropes. The knots seemed very simple, easy to slip out of if you knew how to.

"Not likely." The hood was pulled off and he pulled the gag from his mouth. "He tricked me."

"Who are you?" Illya helped him to his feet.

"His bodyguard."

"Where's the prince?"

"Probably halfway to New Jersey now with his fiancé."

"What?"

"That was the whole point of this party. He was going to run away and get married. His family didn't approve of the match." The bodyguard looked disgusted. "He was supposed to take me with him."

Illya grabbed his communicator and began talking into it. His mind began to play the night's events backwards… and he remembered the locked doors and windows, the unnaturally large pile of coats and promptly locked the bodyguard in the closet.

"How's the prince?"

"He'll have a headache, but he should be fine." Napoleon watched Section Three hustle the prince's bodyguard from the room. "What made you think to look under the coats?"

"You were mentioning how warm it was. And Benwasa is much cooler than New York as a rule. If all the attendees were from that country, they would find the weather even warmer than you. The pile of jackets and coats didn't make sense to me. Plus I knew the kitchen door and all the windows were still locked and he couldn't have left by the front door without us noticing. It only made sense that he was still in the house. I put two and two together. According to the prince, his bodyguard lured him away from the party with the promise of some ill-gotten marijuana, then jumped him. He had no idea the man worked for THRUSH."

"It makes sense. You said so yourself. An adult would stand out. Leave it to THRUSH to make the boy an offer he couldn't refuse. So much for the cloak and dagger."

"Or in this case heavy winter coats and fake spiders."

Illya held up a cup to Napoleon. "Cheers." He sipped and nearly choked.

"What's wrong?"

"Who spiked the punch?"


End file.
